


In the Web

by hummerhouse



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)
Genre: Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:19:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummerhouse/pseuds/hummerhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: The TMNT do not belong to me. No money being made.<br/>Word Count: 2,394<br/>Summary: Mikey falls into the wrong hands.<br/>Rated: PG-13 for mild language</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Web

**Author's Note:**

> This terrific preview image was created by the very talented MsObscure.  
> 

            Raphael and Donatello were in the garage working on a large air compressor that they had brought back from the junkyard.  Parts were spread out over the worktable in front of them as they salvaged pieces from several different units in an attempt to build one good machine.

            “Hand me that flat head screwdriver would you, Raph?” Don asked without taking his eyes off of the motor he was holding.

            As Raph passed it over they both heard the elevator doors slide open.  Don didn’t bother to look up, too engrossed in his task, but Raph glanced around and saw Leo coming towards them.

            “Have you guys seen Mikey?” Leo asked; a look of deep concern on his face.

            The tone of his oldest brother’s voice brought Don’s head up.  “Not since he left to get cat food,” Don informed him.

            “What’s wrong?” Raph asked as Leo’s expression took him from relaxed to alert in a matter of seconds.

            Leo shook his head, saying, “He’s been gone for over two hours and he isn’t answering his shell cell.”

            Don quickly put the machine parts on the table and grabbed a shop towel to clean his hands.

            “That’s too long, even for Mikey,” Raph said.

            “We need to find him,” Leo told them, leading the way towards the Battle Shell.

            Pulling his shell cell out of his belt, Don snapped it open.  “I can try to track his cell,” he said.

            “Ya’ do that,” Raph said, yanking open the driver’s side door.  “I’m driving.”

            Don sat in the passenger seat, his eyes on the in-panel monitor that he’d synced up to his cell phone.  Leo didn’t sit down; concerned over his youngest brother’s disappearance he stood behind Raph, bracing himself with one hand on the back of Raph’s seat and the other on the truck’s ceiling.

            “I’ve got his signal,” Don said.  “He’s really close to the bodega where he usually buys Klunk’s food.”

            Raph scowled.  “If he’s goofing around I’m gonna pound his shell,” he said angrily.

            “That doesn’t explain why he isn’t answering his cell,” Leo said, the worried look still in his eyes.  “He always answers his cell.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Mikey’s eyes drifted to his broken shell cell for about the fifteenth time in the last half hour.  His glance was quick; he didn’t want his captors to see the tiny red light that was still flashing within the remains of the phone.

            Three teenagers stood in front of him as Mikey kneeled on the dirty pavement in a back alley.  Mikey was still wearing the baggy pants and boots that were part of his human disguise, but his oversized hoody and knit cap were gone.

            So were his nunchakus.  He wasn’t sure if they’d divested him of his weapons to get them away from him, or because they wanted souvenirs.  One set was tucked into the belt of the punk to his right; the one to the furthest left of him held the other nunchuck by one handle.  Mikey kept expecting him to start swinging the nunchucks, but apparently the kid had better sense.

            Or maybe he’d tried it while Mikey was unconscious and had managed to hit himself.  People often underestimated the skill required to use nunchucks; and most didn’t understand the deadly force one could attain with that weapon.

            At least these weren’t gang members, Mikey told himself.  Probably just bored teenager’s intent on getting into some mischief to liven up a Saturday night.  Unfortunately, Mikey seemed to be the mischief they had chosen to derive their jollies from.

            The punk in the center stood directly in front of Mikey, pointing his camera phone at the orange banded turtle.  He was making another attempt at getting a clear picture of his captive, but despite being trussed up like a turkey, Mikey wasn’t being a cooperative subject.

            “Did you take the picture?” the teen wearing a green shirt asked.

            His friend with the camera said, “Yeah, but it’s blurry again.  He moves every time I try for a clear shot.”

            “We should’ve taken his pants off while he was unconscious,” the kid wearing purple said, his hand tightening on the handle of Mikey’s nunchuck.  “It would be a better picture.”

            Green shirt’s hands came up, palms outwards in a negative gesture.  “Hey, I ain’t taking the rest of that freaks clothes off.”

            The camera teen looked at his buddy’s and asked, “Maybe we should, like, knock him out again so we can get a clear picture?”

            Mikey watched their exchange as he surreptitiously worked on the ropes that bound his arms behind his shell.  The teens were nowhere near as good at tying someone as the Foot and Mikey had escaped their clutches on numerous occasions.  He just needed to buy himself a little time.

            “If you hit me again you might kill me,” Mikey told them, interrupting their little exchange.  “You guys don’t know enough about that kinda stuff.  I look like this ‘cause of a birth defect dudes.  Killing me would be considered a hate crime.”

            Purple shirt looked at his friends and said, “Man, he’s right!  I’m not taking that kinda risk.  Just wait; he’ll get tired soon and we can get a really good picture then.”

            Right at that moment Mikey managed to work the knot out of the rope binding his arms.  Tugging his arms away from his sides, he snapped the remaining loops in the thin cord.

            Green shirt yelled, “He got loose!”

            The teen in purple dove toward Mikey, brandishing the stolen nunchuck.  His ankles still tied, Mikey rolled away from the punk, reaching out with a hand and snagging the weapon away from the kid.

            As the teen with the camera started to move, something tapped his shoulder.  Looking behind him, he first saw a long, wooden stick, and then a smiling olive green face.

            “Excuse me,” Donatello said as he deftly brought his bo staff down on the punk’s head.

            Out cold before he hit the ground, the teen dropped his open phone and then a second later he was lying flat right next to it.

            The two remaining teens turned just as Leo and Raph descended on them.  Both boys lifted their fists to fight back, but one good punch from the two turtles brothers dropped the teens where they stood.

            Mikey pulled the ropes from his ankles and quickly sprang up.  A swift look around told him his brothers had already taken care of the errant teens.

            “Dudes,” Mikey said, “you didn’t save me any!”

            Raph leaned down and yanked Mikey’s other nunchuck out of green shirt’s belt.

            Tossing the weapon to his youngest brother, Raph said sarcastically, “You’re welcome.”

            Don had picked up the camera phone and was looking at the screen.  Wearing a deep frown, Don said, “He took your picture, Mikey.”

            Raph crossed over to where Don stood and peeked over his shoulder at the phone.

            “So, it ain’t even clear,” Raph said.  “What’s it matter?”

            “It matters because that kid sent this picture to all of his friends and texted them to meet him here in thirty minutes so that they could see Mikey for themselves,” Don answered.

            Leo wore a perplexed expression as he stared at Don.  “What’s wrong, Donny?  Mikey won’t be here when they show up.”

            Don turned the phone around so that Leo could see the picture and said, “This could go viral, Leo.  Every kid in New York City would be out at night with camera phones looking to get a picture of one of us.  For them it would be the greatest monster hunt since Big Foot.  We’d never be able to leave the lair.”

            “Erase it then,” Raph said.

            Don shook his head.  “It doesn’t work like that.  Once something is in the web it’s there forever.”

            Raph turned his head to glare at Mikey.  Leo’s face shifted to a look of extreme displeasure and he focused it on his orange banded brother.

            Mikey shrugged, lifting his palms upwards in a helpless gesture.  “Not my fault dudes,” he said by way of explanation.  “They dropped a flower pot on my head from a second floor balcony while I was on my way to the bodega.”

            Looking back towards Don, Leo asked, “Do you have any suggestions?”

            Bringing a hand up to rub his chin, Don appeared thoughtful.  Finally he said, “I do have an idea.  What we need to do is to make this look like it’s a practical joke.”

            “And how do we do that genius?” Raph asked.

            Don’s face suddenly cleared and he snapped his fingers.  There was no mistaking his posture or his attitude; it was obvious to his brothers that Don had come up with a plan.

            Pointing at Mikey, Don said, “Mikey, go check the dumpsters for a couple of good sized cardboard boxes.  Leo and Raph, I need the plastic storage box and the can of green paint from the Battle Shell.”

            As his brothers raced off to do his bidding, Don tossed one more directive over his shoulder at Raph’s retreating form, “Oh and Raph, I also need the flask you keep hidden in there as well.  Hurry, we only have twenty-two minutes left.”

            The sound of Raph’s cursing drifted back to the genius.  “Shell,” Raph growled, “that’s my good whiskey!”

            Eighteen minutes later Raph was kneeling next to the still unconscious camera teen, holding the kid’s mouth open as he drizzled a little of his whiskey into it.  One of the other boys lay nearby, his green shirt slightly damp and smelling of booze.

            The teen who had charged after Mikey lay a little further away from the first two.  Don and Leo were just finishing with him as Mikey stood watching.

            “Okay Mikey,” Don said, looking up at his brother, “give me your mask, your boots and your pants.”

            “’Kay,” Mike said as he unfastened his mask, tossing it to Leo.  The boots and pants quickly followed.

            A babble of excited voices could be heard drawing nearer just four minutes later.  The turtles were flashes of green as they quickly disappeared from sight.

            “Hey Marty,” one boy shouted, “is this where they’re supposed to be?”

            Another kid was saying, “Did you see that picture?  Could that be for real?”

            “I heard on the news once something about there being green men in the city,” a third voice chimed in.

            The camera kid was just starting to sit up, his hand on his head.  His other hand touched his phone and he picked it up, but before he had a chance to look at it, the approach of his friends caught his attention.

            The previously boisterous group suddenly grew silent as they spotted their friends.  Coming to a standstill near the two boys lying closest together in the alley, they glared down at the boy with the camera.

            “What the hell kind of sick joke is this?” one of the new arrivals asked.

            The boy addressed as Marty said with disgust, “They’re stupid drunk!”

            Another teen held up his phone.  “They like to play with pictures so damn much, let’s take one of them and send it to everybody so they’ll know what kind of assholes these guys are.”

            The green shirted kid stirred and then pushed himself into a sitting position.  The camera kid held up a hand in protest to his standing friends.

            “Hey, we got jumped guys.  There were more of those green freaks and they took their pal and got away.  But . . . but the picture’s for real; I’ve still got the proof!” the camera kid protested.

            “Are you an idiot?” Marty asked; his voice thick with disgust.  “That picture sucked and your stupid gag sucks even more.”

            He pointed towards the third boy, who was beginning to stir.  Camera kid turned his head to look at his pal and then did a double take.

            Gone was his purple shirt and his white undershirt had been spray painted green along with his arms, neck, face and now bald head.  He was sporting an orange mask and a cardboard box was tied onto his back.  Both the box and the front of his shirt had lines and swirl patterns drawn on them with a thick black marker in an attempt to duplicate scutes.

            The only other thing the kid was wearing was Mikey’s baggy pants, the large boots and a very bewildered look.

            Several flashing camera phones did nothing to alleviate his confusion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Raph was driving the Battle Shell back to the lair with a big grin on his face.  Despite the loss of a flask’s worth of his best whiskey, he had been highly entertained by the payback Don had come up with for those boys.  Hopefully it would also teach them to stay out of mischief in the future.

            Don was seated next to him staring at the screen of the spare cell phone he kept.  He had cloned the camera kid’s phone before they left and was now observing all of the current activity on it.  After a few minutes, a broad smile stretched his face and he started to chuckle.

            Seated in the back, Leo and Mikey leaned forward when they heard Don laugh.

            “It worked,” Don said, feeling their gaze on him and turning in his seat.  “Your picture has been labeled a hoax and that kid’s friends sent out a new picture of his bald headed green buddy.”

            He held the phone out for them to see; then brought it up to the front so that Raph could glance at it.  The fake ‘turtle’ was up on his knees, his mouth a big O as his picture was taken.

            Mikey settled back into his seat with a sigh.  He gingerly fingered the bandage on the top of his head and grimaced at the lump that had formed.

            “That’s awesome dude,” Mikey said.  “There’s only one little problem.”

            Raph’s face quickly dissolved into a frown as Don turned around once more.  Leo was staring at Mikey, wondering just how bad the bump on his head really was.

            “What is it, Mikey?” Leo asked with concern.

            Mikey straightened, his hand coming up in a frustrated gesture.  “I still don’t have any cat food.  Can we swing by a bodega?”

            His brother’s laughter swept out into the night air.


End file.
